Alayne never forgets an insult, in fact she wrote a whole show about it. Come see Alayne's comedy show about growing up queer in rural New Zealand, reading fanfiction on dial-up internet, being a walking stereotype (a librarian with terrible eyesight who is very hot), and finally, becoming a Bunnings gay.
In Purple is the Gayest Colour, Alayne Dick invites the audience into her world with the kind of openness, vulnerability, and absurd humour that leaves everyone in the room feeling a little bit lighter. From the very first moment, there’s a glow of authenticity that lights up the stage—not from big gestures or shouty punchlines, but from a natural storytelling style that blends warmth and wit in equal measure.
Nominated for a slew of accolades at the 2024 Wellington Comedy Awards—including Best Joke, Best Show, Breakthrough Comedian, and Best Comedian—Dick has clearly made a mark on the local comedy scene. And it’s easy to see why. Her show isn’t just funny—it’s genuine, personal, and surprisingly moving.
At its heart, Purple is the Gayest Colour is a collection of memories and reflections, drawn from Dick’s childhood and teenage years. She kicks things off by introducing herself as “a lesbian who tells jokes online, which tends to annoy certain types of men.” It’s a line delivered with cheeky charm, and it sets the tone for what follows: a journey through formative moments, some awkward, some hilarious, many deeply relatable.
What’s most striking is Dick’s ability to balance goofiness with gravity. Her segment on discovering gay fan fiction as a teenager is both funny and touching, revealing the gap in queer representation she faced growing up. In a world with few LGBTQ+ role models—save perhaps for the exaggerated characters of Glee—these stories filled a crucial space for identity and imagination. Moments like these are handled with care and insight, often landing not just laughs but audible sighs of recognition from the crowd.
One of the show’s memorable features is a sly, meta-theatrical gag aimed at reviewers. Dick devotes a part of the set to poking fun at how critics always refer to her by surname, weaving the bit into the set design itself. It’s a knowing wink to the people with notebooks in the audience, and it demonstrates her flair for playful commentary that remains inclusive rather than divisive.
There’s also a strong thread of social commentary running through the performance—particularly when she touches on growing up in a highly disciplined all-girls school that was paradoxically both stiffly traditional and undoubtedly queer. It’s here that her talent for layered observation shines, as she explores the contradictions of that experience with a light touch that still manages to provoke reflection.
Throughout the hour, Dick maintains an impressive pace. Her energy is constant but never overwhelming. She never feels like she’s trying too hard to get a laugh—instead, the humour flows naturally, often arising from the tiniest details or turns of phrase. Audiences are kept engaged not by spectacle, but by the deep sense of familiarity and friendship she cultivates.
It’s a kind of performance that doesn’t feel like a performance at all. There’s a relaxed, conversational quality to her delivery that makes the audience feel like they’ve stumbled into a particularly entertaining catch-up with an old mate. There’s no yelling, no wild gesticulations to underline the jokes—just good storytelling, a great sense of timing, and a quiet confidence that lets the material breathe.
Beneath the comedy lies something more substantial: a desire for connection. Dick is disarming in the way she shares not just funny stories, but a genuine desire to be understood and to understand. Her friendly demeanour and visible appreciation of the audience make the whole evening feel intimate. At times, it’s as though she’s looking for reassurance, yet never in a way that makes the crowd uncomfortable—instead, it builds a shared atmosphere of empathy and openness.
The show is unapologetically queer, but not exclusive. Dick includes a wide array of voices and perspectives in her material—from small-town New Zealanders to the older generation, from children with no filters to people trying to navigate the world of gender and sexuality in their own way. The result is a comedy show that’s very much of its time, while also rooted in something timeless: the human desire to be known, to laugh, and to belong.
By the end of Purple is the Gayest Colour, it’s hard not to feel like you’ve made a new friend. Dick doesn’t just perform—she connects. Her stories, her jokes, her quiet moments of truth all build towards something more than just an hour of entertainment. They form a portrait of someone figuring things out in public, with generosity and grace.
This isn’t just comedy—it’s community. And that, perhaps, is the secret to the smile that stays on your face as you leave the theatre. It’s not just that Dick is funny (though she certainly is), it’s that she lets you in. And in doing so, she reminds us that laughter, identity, and belonging are more deeply intertwined than we often realise.
Purple is the Gayest Colour runs from 7 May - 10 May 2025 at Auckland's Basement Theatre, Studio.
Tickets can be purchased here
Presented as part of the NZ International Comedy Festival with Best Foods Mayo, from 2 – 24 May 2025